“Shit. Please. Please, I need you,” I beg as my climax teeters on a sharpened point.
“Say it again.” Kayne rips the vibrator out of my pussy.
“I need you! I need you!” I chant.
“Again!” He slams into me, quelling the ache, feeding the flame.
“I need you!” I shout as our hips clash together over and over, until my muscles tighten and milk his erection for everything it’s worth.
“Oh fuck, baby, come,” he growls as I soak us both, my climax making a mess on his cock and my inner thighs.
“Fuck!” he hisses as he plows into my pussy, steady and hard, like he’s cleaving through a turbulent sea. He doesn’t stop thrusting until he’s buried so deep, it feels like our orgasms become one.
“Kitten,” he rumbles disoriented as he pumps in and out, emptying himself inside me.
Left slack in the swing, Kayne grabs my face and kisses me lethargically until we both come back around.
“How do you feel?” he asks between flicks of his tongue.
“Exceedingly used,” I reply honestly, still unable to see him.
Kayne chuckles. “Exactly how you should feel. This is mybody and I’ll use it however I see fit.”
“You never disappoint in that aspect,” I say, as he removes my blindfold.
“Did I hurt you?” He searches my eyes.
“Yes.”
Kayne frowns. “You didn’t use your safe word.”
“I didn’t want to use my safe word. You like hurting me and I like being hurt.”
It’s the ugly truth. I am the masochist to his sadist. I crave his pleasure at the same time demanding his pain. We are two misplaced pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Kayne unstraps me from the swing and helps me to stand. My wrists are sore from straining against the restraints, my pussy is tender from the rough fuck, and my skin is prickly from the hot wax.
“Take a shower with me?” I ask Kayne as I nuzzle up against his toned, naked body.
“Do you really need to ask?” He tilts my chin up.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted another one.”
“If it’s with you, I’d never say no. You should know that by now.”
A smile is my only reply. In the bathroom, I inspect his masterpiece in the brighter light. The playroom was dim. I look closely at the way the wax runs along my body, the pattern almost looks like letters. Wait. Itisletters. K-A-Y-N-E
“Are you serious?” I turn to him.
“What?” He grins, proudly.
“You wrote your name on my body in hot wax?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “You’re mine. Signed, sealed, and delivered.”
Hmm . . . where have I heard that before?
All I can do is shake my head and laugh.
